


Casual Encounters

by zerodaysdone



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Christmas, Crack, Crimes & Criminals, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Ho Ho Homicide, Holidays, Thanksgiving Dinner, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodaysdone/pseuds/zerodaysdone
Summary: In a vaguely futuristic AU of our world, where cyborgs are common, cars fly, and someone's trying to murder government officials, Breq forms a crew to take down Anaander Mianaai through a series of Craigslist misadventures.First, Seivarden Vendaai needs a date to piss off her mother for Thanksgiving. Enter Breq.And then there's the conspiracy to... get rid of... Anaander Mianaai, so enter a convoluted Christmas Card plot involving Zeiat and Sphene.Needless to say, it was going downhill from the beginning.





	1. Casual Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Update 12/18/2016: This is now a series of Craigslist mishaps. See chapter two for some sweet sweet Zeiat and Sphene shenanigans.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seivarden Vendaai needs a date to piss off her mother for Thanksgiving. Enter Breq.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based vaguely on  
> https://38.media.tumblr.com/d10f6eccd59d2095dea2f603b0443d53/tumblr_nff0bkoER61sc02hao2_1280.jpg

It was a lovely evening.  The view from the penthouse (her mother’s) was absolutely gorgeous, encompassing every bit of the sleek, elegant, modern, civilized, city. The sun was setting leisurely over the elegantly mirror-paned highrises, and the hovercars were glinting like little silver fish, darting along invisible roads.

The newscast played quietly in the background, the house AI’s voice relaying the latest events. “ _The investigation of last week’s attempt on a member of the Mianaai family is still under investigation. So far, the attack seems to have come from a radical hacker known as Justice of Toren. Formerly a member of the military, Justice is a cyborg-_ ”

“Turn that thing off,” said Madame Vendaai.

The AI obliged. 

“You can never trust cyborgs, you know,” said Madame Vendaai to her daughter, Seivarden. 

“The Mianaai family has ruled the past couple of centuries unopposed,” said Seivarden, not making eye contact. “And they’re not exactly protecting the interests of the people.”

“Nonsense,” said her mother. “They’re protecting our interests, and we’re people, aren’t we? Without that family’s support, we wouldn’t have been able to put you through rehab.”

Seivarden Vendaai was going to scream. 

“I always wished you’d have gone into politics,” said her mother wistfully. “Continue the dynasty. But, since you’ve cleaned up and off the streets, the least you could do is attend the Thanksgiving dinner like the rest of us.”

“It’s a  fundraiser! ”

“Exactly,” said her mother, adjusting her pearl earrings and giving Seivarden a scathing look. “It’s for the greater good. Anaander Mianaai herself will be there and I’ve picked your outfit for you, so you have no excuse to not look presentable.”

“I’m not going,” said Seivarden, crossing her arms. 

“Let me put it this way, darling,” said her mother sweetly. “Either you go, or I stop paying for rent and you’ll have to get a real job.”

“Being an actor is a real job.”

“You haven’t had a gig in months,” said her mother pointedly, kissed her on the cheek, and swept out with a reminder of. “It’s Thursday evening, so don’t be late. You can bring a date, if you can manage that, of course.”

“Fine!” yelled Seivarden. “I’ll bring my long term partner!”

Her mother’s laughter was cut off by the door slamming shut.

Seivarden swore and kicked at the door, miscalculated, and ended up sprawled on the floor.

“Fuck,” she said softly, with feeling.

“ _It is a single event,_ ” said the house AI in its eternally pleasant tone. “ _You will survive it._ ”

“I  won’t ,” bit out Seivarden. “My extended family thinks I’m an embarrassment, the guests have all read the tabloids, and none of them care. They don’t really care that my mother kicked me out. All they see now is a disappointed well to do parent trying to piece her shit kid back together who  for some reason was living on the streets and  for some reason getting high.”

“ _I have been forbidden from discussing this matter._ ”

“Of course you have,” said Seivarden bitterly. “This whole Thanksgiving event is bullshit. Especially since Anaander Mianaai is going to be there, and now mother’s just making fun of me. I don’t know anyone in this fucking city and she knows it.”

“ _There are many excellent escort services here. Perhaps one of them will be to your tastes._ ”

“No,” muttered Seivarden. “She’ll be expecting that.”

“ _There are dating sites, of course, but I would not-_ ”

“Craigslist.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Bring up Craigslist.”

“ _Your mother considers Craigslist-_ ”

“Too low class and full of garbage, I know,” said Seivarden vehemently. ”So pull it up.”

The AI obliged, and Seivarden flicked her way straight to casual encounters.

“Read them aloud,” she pleaded, still sprawled on the floor.

“ _As you wish. November 22. Pussy eating exp-_ ”

“Pass.”

“ _Blindfold blowj-_ ”

“Pass!”

“ _It’s fuck’n Friday!_ ”

“It’s a Tuesday. Pass.”

“ _Anon cum dum-_ ”

“PASS.”

“ _Any girl wanna blaze 420?_ ”

“Hmm… Nah. Pass.”

“ _Alone on Thanksiving? M-_ ”

“Pa- Wait no. Read that one.”

_“Date: November 22nd. Section: casual encounters. Title: Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your fam? Body text..._ ”

Seivarden got comfortable.

_“I am a 136 year old cyborg felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me. I look 28 and can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 30, depending on what I wear. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have you pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game._

_I can do these things, at your request:_

_Openly hit on other guests while you act like you don’t notice._

_Start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion._

_Propose to you in front of everyone._

_Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, I don’t drink, but I used to. A lot. Too much in fact. I know the drill)._

_Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see._

_I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest!_ ”

“Fucking jackpot,” said Seivarden. “Let’s contact them.”

_“Are you sure?_ ”

“Absolutely. This is my soulmate.”

“ _Alright._ ”

The AI sounded almost skeptical, but Seivarden pushed that out of her mind. 

A few hours later, she had the felon’s contact information.

Their exchange was short, almost terse. The conversation revealed barely anything, except that the felon’s name was Breq and that she could pick Seivarden up and drive them both to the dinner. 

Seivarden had never been so excited for a family event in her life. What dampened it a little was the arrival of the outfit her mother had picked out for her. It was nice, in a traditional way, but with that unnecessary green and purple color scheme that the old guard seemed to adore. Seivarden, predictably, hated it. However, in the end, the coaxing of the AI got her to reluctantly don the costume, do her make up, and tame her hair. 

Just as she was pinning one final curl in place, the AI’s voice sounded: “ _Your date is out front._ ”

Seivarden grinned maliciously into the mirror, grabbed her purse, and sprinted out. 

“Wish me luck!” she yelled. 

“ _No amount of luck will help you_ , ” said the AI forlornly. 

Seivarden ignored it. 

The trip down the elevator ended up being unnecessarily long and by the time it stopped, she felt like she was going to tear her hair out. 

Fortunately, the sight waiting for her in the parking lot did not disappoint.

Breq was easy to make out from among the sleek hovercars. Her van was huge, hulking, and white, with a giant engine in the back. It sat awkwardly, taking up two parking spaces, looking very much like the antique it was. Its owner leaned against its dirty (as advertised) side, looking bored.

Seivarden’s mother was going to hate this. Seivarden, however, was delighted. 

Breq was shorter than her, head shaved bald to reveal the shiny surfaces of various implants. Her eyebrows seemed to have been shaved or plucked in such a way as to give her a permanently angry expression, and she wore way too much leather for a single person to have on outside of a fetish club. 

Seivarden waved. Breq spotted her, looked her up and down, then raise her hand in greeting. 

Seivarden hurried over.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Seivarden. Vendaai.”

“Breq,” said Breq, holding her hand out.

Seivarden looked down, belatedly realized that she was supposed to shake it, and quickly did so. 

“Your dinner starts in twenty minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Is it ok if we’re late?”

Seivarden grinned. “It’s perfect.”

The corner of Breq’s lips quirked up in a semblance of a smile. “Get in, then.”

They both climbed into the van, which was oddly roomy inside. 

“Mercy,” said Breq, strapping herself in, “Let’s go.”

Instantly the dashboard flickered to life and the engines started.

“ _Is this Seivarden?_ ” asked the van, voice slightly more than typically pleasant.

“Yes,” said Breq. “Mercy, this is Seivarden. Seivarden, this is Mercy of Kalr, she lives partially in this van, partially in an android body that’s out of commission at the moment.”

“She’s beautiful,” whispered Seivarden, looking around the interior. 

It really was very well taken care of for such an old car. The dirt on the outside suggested it should be a mess, but the leather seats were soft, clean, and only slightly worn. All of the tech seemed to be working perfectly. 

“ _Old and dirty, as advertised,_ ” said Mercy wryly. “ _But I assure you, I am in perfect condition._ ”

“Speaking of conditions,” said Breq, as the van hoovered up from its spot and melded seamlessly into traffic, “What are the do’s and don’ts here?”

“Anything goes.”

“Hitting on guests?”

“Please.”

“Bad political discussions?”

“Even better.”

“Proposal?”

“...Let’s see where the night heads first.”

“Fake drunk behavior?”

“For sure.”

“Physical altercations?” 

“Ideally, as many as possible.”

“You must really hate your family.”

Seivarden shrugged, folding in on herself a little. “They hate me,” she said quietly. “Eye for an eye, and all.”

Breq nodded, and the van flew on. 

Seivarden looked around. There was something slightly off about the van. The windows seemed too thick, and there were odd compartments on the sides of the walls.

“So, uh, how’d you get this van?” asked Seivarden. “It looks a little... ”

“Military issue,” said Breq blankly.

“You used to be in the military?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you...”

“We’re not talking about that.”

They got to Seivarden’s parents’ mansion unnecessarily quickly, and Breq brought the van to a halt in midair. 

“Right,” said Seivarden quickly, “Access codes.”

She recited the latest line of numbers from memory, Mercy’s dashboard flashing in time with her words. 

The forcefield, made visible by Mercy’s sensors, shorted out and they were able to pass through.

The mansion beyond was truly, heinously, large. Surrounding it was a series of artfully trimmed hedges  There was a winding, paved, pathway snaking its way up to the house, as antiquated as it was decorated. It culminated in an expanse in front of the house and crowned with a giant, gaudy, fountain.

“Mercy,” said Breq, “Your most asshole parking job, if you will.”

“ _Is this machine waterproof?_ ”

“Yes.”

Mercy landed in the fountain. The water splashed up around them, the van tilted precariously to one side, and finally stabilized itself. 

“ _You’re going to have to exit through the passenger's door,_ ” said Mercy, not sounding the least bit regretful. 

“Great,” said Seivarden. “I’ve always hated this fountain.”

“ Out you go, then. ”

Seivarden clambered out, narrowly avoided getting her dress wet, and somehow ended up on the pavement in one piece. Breq jumped down effortlessly, graceful as can be.

“I’m going to put my arm around your waist,” Breq said, 

“Ok,” said Seivarden.

Breq did. Seivarden carefully slung her arm over Breq’s shoulder.

“Hold on, you’re wearing lipstick?”

“Yeah,” said Seivarden.

“Kiss me.”

“What?!”

“On the cheek. To leave a lipstick mark.”

Seivarden leaned over and carefully left a perfect stamp of lipstick on Breq’s cheek, surveyed it, then smeared her own lipstick a little.

They stumbled up to the great double doors of the mansion and Seivarden pounded on it. Breq pulled out a flask and lifted it to her lips, then tilted her head back a little. 

“And that should finally be Seivarden,” came the muffled voice of Seivarden’s mother from beyond the door. When she flung the front door open, she was greeted with the appalling sight of her daughter draped across a stranger chugging frantically from a flask.

Breq wiped her mouth and belched.

“Sev,” she slurred. “You never told me your mom was this hot.”

Madame Vendaai’s hand flew to her chest as she ogled the pair.

“Mother,” said Seivarden. “This is my girlfriend, Breq.”

“Charmed,” said her mother, voice strained. 

“Where’s the rest of the fam?” asked Breq. 

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to meet them,” gushed Seivarden, dragging Breq past her mother. “You’ll love them.”

Seivarden’s mother hurried after them, through the parlor.

“Darling, is this really such a good idea?” she asked.

“Mother,” said Seivarden. “I’m in  love .”

And then she pushed open the door to the dining hall. 

It was glamorous in a way that Seivarden had once loved, but had recently grown to dislike intensely. As large and ornate as the rest of the house, with a whooping ten chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and paintings that belonged in museums, it was a monstrosity all of its own. The dinner table, however, made up for it. It was absolutely laden with every kind of vaguely thanksgiving food imaginable. There were multiple cooked birds, both flightless and flightful, mounds of mashed potatoes, little boats of gravy, cranberry sauce, and an assortment of vegetables, sandwiches, caviar, and gods knew what else. 

“What the fuck?” said Breq. “All this food and not a single chicken nugget in sight.”

The guests, all equally well dressed and well groomed, turned to stare. 

“We’ll just move some folks around and sit you… um… further away,” said Madame Vendaai faintly.

“Nonsense,” said an unfamiliar voice. “They can sit right here next to me!”

Seivarden turned to see a person in a pristine white suit, with neatly braided hair and a smile that was just a bit too wide to be natural.

“Are you sure, Ambassador?” asked Madame Vendaai. 

“Po-si-tive,” enunciated the mysterious ambassador. 

Seivarden smiled demurely and sat down next to her. 

“I,” said the Ambassador, “Am Zeiat. Mianaai brought me along, said it would a good… hm…. Human experience?”

“I love human experiences,” slurred Breq. “Nothing quite like ‘em. And which Mianaai?”

“Anaander Mianaai,” said someone to the other side of Zeiat.

Seivarden’s heart sped up.

“Shit,” said Breq, dropping her act for a second. “It’s you.”

“Who are you?”

“I’ve seen your pics online,” said Breq, easing back into her asshole role. “About a six out of ten. Hit me up sometime.”

Anaander looked slightly taken aback. Madame Vendaa was appalled. Zeiat, for her part, was delighted.

“Let’s just… start the meal,” said the hostess.

Immediately, the conversation that Seivarden didn’t even know had gone silent started up again with full force. Small robots floated down out of the ceiling (where Seivarden suspected they had been hiding the chandeliers) and started serving the food.

“ Turducken, ” intoned one, putting a giant heap of that specific dish onto Zeiat’s plate.

“What a creation!” said the ambassador, lifting up a corner of her portion. “What is it?”

“It’s a chicken inside of a duck inside of a turkey,” said Anaander. 

“How do you make these?!”

“You smash a turkey egg, a chicken egg, and a duck egg together,” said Breq.

“How novel!”

Nobody corrected her.

As the evening continued on, the guests became slightly more intoxicated. When one of the robots came to pour Breq some wine, she stopped them

“Got my own stuff right here,” she said, raising her flask. “None of that shit.”

“What could possibly be better than a fifty year old bottle of wine?” asked Madame Vendaai, appalled.

“Seven dollar whiskey,” said Breq, and chugged from her flask. 

Seivarden’s mother gasped.

The first attempt at civil conversation happened when Madame Vendaai, politely as can be, asked them how they’d met.

Breq eyed Seivarden, then gestured for her to talk. 

“Well,” said Seivarden, batting her eyes demurely. “It was love at first sight. Of course, I saw the gun first, then her, but neither of us could resist.”

“The gun?” asked Madame Vendaai. 

“I tried to steal her wallet,” said Breq, stone-faced. “Instead, she stole my heart.”

“Aw, babe!” exclaimed Seivarden.

“Human courtship rituals,” Zeiat told Anaander, “Are truly astounding.”

The rest of the folk at the table, however, ignored the matter and had started talking about politics. Which was a huge mistake as far as Seivarden was concerned, because she could see that, beyond the fake drunkenness, Breq’s eyes lit up.

“But are cyborgs actually human,” said someone. “They function different, after all.”

“Hey,” said Breq, bending her head so that her implants would be even more visible. “DId you get the latest vaccine?”

“Yes?” said the person uncertainly. 

“You know what’s in there?” asked Breq. “”Fuck- Fuckin' nanobots. Congrats. You’re a cyborg.

The guest immediately started protesting, which led to someone joining in, which led to a discussion on cyborg rights, which was even worse. 

“There are certain things that they just shouldn’t be allowed to do,” said someone else. “They’re not exactly… clean… are they?”

Breq reached across the table, knocked over a wine glass, got her sleeve stuck in a vat of cranberry sauce, and proceeded to rub her hand entirely over the speaker’s face.

“Guess what?” she said. “Now my dirty little cyborg hands have been all over you. Who’s unclean now, asshole?”

Zeiat cackled. “How delightful!”

Seivarden eyed her.

Anaander looked increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation went on. Well, not uncomfortable, but annoyed. 

Finally, she said. “It is undoubtable that that cyborgs are citizens, however, there are just certain things that they are inherently good or bad at. It comes with the programming. They’re better in combat, worse at socializing. It’s just the way of things.”

That was when Breq punched Anaander.

There was an audible gasp from the rest of the attendees.

Anaander reeled back, then stood up, toppling her chair over. “You!” she hissed. “If my guards were here-”

“They’re not,” said Breq. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, this looks fun!” said Zeiat. “Can I join? I’m  very  good at hitting things.”

“No!” hissed Anaander. “Who are you, anyways?! Some two-bit criminal who’s siphoning money out of a trustfund child!”

Seivarden should have been insulted. She should have been afraid. There was a time, when, maybe, she would have been. Now, she was just tired. Tired of her family, tired of this upper society, and tired of Mianaai’s and Vendaai’s telling her what to do.

“How dare you?!” she shouted, at her most scandalized. “That’s the  love  of my  life  you’re talking about!”

“Thanks, babe,” said Breq. “Maybe justice will prevail here after all.”

“Justice...” said Anaander, slowly, standing. “Justice. I know you! You tried to kill my sister!”

Seivarden’s blood ran cold. 

Breq  punched Anaander again, right in the solar plexus. Anaander gasped for breath and went down again. 

“I’m calling the police!” said Madame Vendaai, signalling to the house AI. 

“I’ll get you,” said Breq, leaning down and grabbing Anaander around the throat. “I’ll get one of you, one day. Don’t think I won’t.”

With that, she straightened up and walked away.

“Goodnight, Seivarden,” she said, demeanor changed entirely. “Thank you for the dinner. It was worth… all of this.”

“Wait,” said Seivarden, and scrambled after Breq. “I’m coming with you!”

“Seivarden,” said her mother dangerously. “If you set one foot out that door-”

“Oh, fuck you, mom,” Seivarden threw over her shoulder. “Where were you three years ago?”

Breq looked over, surprised. “You do realize,” she said. “If you come with me, you’ll be a wanted criminal.”

Seivarden surveyed the dining hall one final time. “There’s worse things to be,” she said. 

“Then let’s hurry.”

They picked up the pace and practically  ran out into the courtyard.

“Mercy!” yelled Breq. “Code Red!”

“ _It will take me some time to get out of this fountain,_ ” said the van, and started rocking itself back and forth.

Breq climbed in and helped Seivarden in.

“Buckle in,” she snapped. “I hope you have some useful skills.”

“Me too,” said Seivarden. 

Just as the door of the van was about to close, a hand reached through and grabbed at the handhold above the door. 

Seivarden swore.

Breq reached under her seat and produced a gun, training it on the door.

Into the van toppled Zeiat, grinning maniacally. At this proximity, Seivarden could see that she had multiple rows of unfortunately sharp teeth.

“You’re much more interesting,” said the ambassador, and climbed into the back seat. 

“ _In for a penny, in for a dime,_ ” said Mercy philosophically.

“Fuck,” said Breq with feeling, and the van took off.

***

“ _The criminal known as Justice of Toren has added to her rap sheet this past November,”_ chattered the radio of the high end coffee shop. _“Having kidnapped Seivarden Vendaai, heir of the Vendaai fortune, and Ambassador Zeiat, an alien envoy from the Presger system, Justice of Toren is still at large._ ”

“Are these hats really necessary?” asked Breq bitterly, raising the edge of her floppy hat just a little, so she could see where she was going.

Seivarden gave her a look over her large, circular, sunglasses. “This is art,” she said, slightly insulted.

“I didn’t come here to make art,” said Breq, “I came here to win.”

“Personally, I quite like the hats,” said Zeiat.

“I’m glad  someone appreciates my work,” muttered Seivarden.

“ _Folks,_ ” said Mercy in their ears. “ _The target will be rounding the corner in a minute now. I suggest you get in formation._ ”

“Right,” said Seivarden, and picked up her newspaper.

Breq put her hand on her gun. 

Zeiat grinned.

Casual encounters had never gone so wrong. Or so well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I can't write anything that isn't a crack crime AU.  
> I might write a sequel for this where the gang teams up with Sphene to wreck some shit in a Leverage-like fashion, but I haven't decided yet. (Update 12/18/16: See chapter two for that sequel.)  
> ;)))


	2. Strictly Platonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeiat and Seivarden aid Breq in her quest of taking down Anaander Mianaai, but lo and behold, it's the holidays! Wanting to learn more about human customs, Zeiat answers a Craigslist ad calling for a family to take some photos with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~It's beginning to look a lot like Shitscram... Everywhere you go~

It was a beautiful day at the Mianaai Tower. The sunlight glinted off of its mirrored surface just so, making it truly a sight to behold. Inside, it was equally gorgeous and equally mirrored, perhaps to an unnecessary extent. Employees and family members walked around on their busy busy schedule. A janitor enthusiastically mopped the floor near an AI access panel near the wall.

Or, at least, it seemed to be a janitor at first glance. A closer look would reveal someone who wasn’t precisely human under that blue uniform and baseball cap. Features that were a little too sharp. Eyes that were a little too unsettling.

A screen down the hall was broadcasting the latest news, and the faint sound of the reporter’s voice echoed for a while in either direction. “ _ Criminal Justice of Toren is still at large, with the last known location of it and its prisoners, Seivarden Vendaai and Presger Ambassador Zeiat, being Omar City. But don’t worry, folks. That’s half a planet away.  In the same vein, we have a gem of a news piece to share with you. It seems Justice isn’t the only terrorist out there. Last spotted in our city, S... _ ”

A passing office worker smiled pleasantly, and Zeiat grinned back from under her faded jean cap. The employee walked just a little bit faster. When she was out of sight, Zeiat turned to the panel again, checking the flashing light on the USB. Still red. Download in progress.

_ “The AI doesn’t seem to have spotted the intrusion in the system yet,” _ came Breq’s voice from the earbud. “ _ Did you input- _ ”

“Trust me to play this game, please,” said Zeiat. “I know the rules are well as you do,  _ commander _ . All the codes are in place.”

There was a faint sound, one Zeiat was sure humans couldn’t hear, and in the next moment, alarms were blaring.

“ _ Zeiat! _ ” called Breq’s voice. “ _ Status report! _ ”

“ _ I told you, we shouldn’t have let her go alone, _ ” said Seivarden, through the earpiece. “ _ Zeiat, get down to the lobby immediately. I just cleared out. Breq’s waiting in a taxi outside. Remember, keep your hat down and inhabit your character completely. _ ” 

“But I want to win the game,” said Zeiat, slightly petulant. “The download’s almost done.”

“ _ With all due respect, Ambassador, you do realize that what you are doing is highly illegal? _ ” Ah yes, the AI, Mercy of Kalr. It didn’t talk much, but it was very logical when it did.

“Of course,” said Zeiat. “I am not too familiar with this aspect of humanity, but crime is a central feature of your civilization. It is only natural that I get well acquainted with it. However, I do also want to win.”

“ _ Ambassador, security is heading in your direction. _ ”

Indeed they were. Zeiat knew that, could hear the movement of the elevator, the shuffle of bodies within. The light on the USB turned green. Such archaic technology. She pulled it out, pocketed it, and pressed the series of pressure-sensitive points on the panel in a way she knew would wipe any mention of her presence from the records. 

The elevator dinged. 

“ _Now, stay calm,_ ” said Seivarden. “ _Remember, you’re a janitor named Avaar. Recently divorced, taking care of three children. You like dogs, late night reruns of old entertainments, and your favorite flavor of ice cream is pink._ ”

“I am very calm,” said Zeiat. “Avaar, however, is not. She is concerned about the alarm and worried about getting home to her children.”

“ _ Excellent character work! Breq, are you hearing this? _ ”

The elevator doors slid open. Zeiat pulled her cap down further over her head and pushed her cart towards them. What could have been a hoard of security guards stampeded out of the elevator, guns in hand.

“It’s that way!” one of them barked at the other. “Remember, stand your ground!”

In spite of herself, Zeiat tensed, got ready to run, or maybe eat something. She wasn’t percisely human, wasn’t completely alien, either. Somewhere along the way, fight or flight instincts got a bit messed up. No one could blame her for it, really. It was a mishap of genetic engineering. She sized up the nearest guard, trying to figure out how far she could unhinge her jaw and then… 

They ran straight past her. 

These humans were really wearing off on her. She breathed a sigh of relief and got into the elevator, pushed the button for the first floor. It didn’t work. Of course they’d shut down the elevators. She opened her mouth and stuck her hand down her throat, felt around, retrieved the proper tool, and set to work undoing the control panel for the elevator. A few buttons later, the elevator obediently started moving downwards.

It got there pretty quickly, alarm still blaring. However, the ground floor presented a problem.

“I’m sorry, we’re on lockdown right now,” said a frazzled receptionist. “Please take a seat and wait to be scanned and questioned.”

“ _ Zeiat, switch to Plan Two Etrepa. In section A3, there’s an emergency exit, should be pretty easy for you to disable, and hopefully unguarded. Do whatever you need to get there.  _ ”

“I’m not sure my jaw can unhinge enough for me to swallow the receptionist.”

“Pardon? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“ _ Just say you need to go to the bathroom,” _ said Seivarden, exasperated. 

“I said, I need to go use the restroom.”

“Oh. Down the hall and to the right. Please leave your supplies here.”

“Of course,” said Zeiat, and grinned.

Finding section A3 was easy. However, once there, Zeiat faced another complication.

“Breq,” she whispered. “It is definitely guarded.”

“ _ How many? _ ”

“Two.”

Suddenly, something dropped from the ceiling, knocked one guard out quick, and the other one in the course of seconds. 

“Nevermind,” said Zeiat. “No guards.”

That something looked a lot more like a someone. The figure was dressed in a business suit, combat shoes, and its long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It reached for the door.

“Wait!” called Zeiat.

The figure stiffened. 

“If you trigger the alarm, you lose the game,” said Zeiat, slipping out of her hiding place and tapping at the access panel near the door. Then, she pushed the door open.

“It’s simple, really,” she said, but the figure was already gone. 

***

“I said, there was someone else there,” said Zeiat for the upteenth time. “I didn’t set off the alarm.”

Breq was doing that thing she did when she wanted to pace, but was tightly controlling herself. Seivarden was indeed pacing around their tiny apartment, arms crossed. Mercy of Kalr’s humanoid chassis sat in a corner, lacking proper mobility in its lower body. 

“ _ We did get the layouts, _ ” said Mercy, through the chassis. Its mouth moved, but the voice still came out sounding, well, rather like an AI. “ _ And we only burned through six plans. _ ”

“And yet we still can’t decode them,” said Breq stoically. 

“How about we take a break?” said Seivarden pleadingly. “The winter holidays are almost here. We’ve been working nonstop for about a month now.”

“Winter holidays?” asked Zeiat.  
_“Archaic rituals from various ancient human religions all took place around the same time in the winter,”_ said Mercy. _“The leftovers of it still amount to Midwinter, a holiday formerly known as Christmas. It involves decorating conifers and giving presents. Its current title is misleading as it is not in the middle of winter, but what can you do. This holiday is considered secular, as it does not fall in with the current major world religion under the rule of the Mianaai Company. However, despite the centuries since the Mianaai Company takeover, some do still call it Christmas...”_

“We don’t have that, where I come from,” said Zeiat. “Presents and trees, you say?”

“See?” said Seivarden. “She’s never experienced Midwinter! Breq...”

Breq’s features softened imperceptibly. “Alright. But only until Mercy of Kalr decodes the layouts. We need to find out what’s on that top floor, and it’s going to be more closely guarded this time.”

“Will we be holding a Midwinter celebration?” asked Zeiat. 

“No,” said Breq, right as Seivarden said, “Yes.”

Breq stared down Seivarden, which wasn’t a tough feat in and of itself.

“Where else is she supposed to find holiday spirit?” Seivarden muttered, hunching her shoulders and crossing and uncrossing her arms.

“I don’t know,” said Breq. “Craigslist?”

***

“Mercy of Kalr?” asked Zeiat, a while later, watching Seivarden string up various wintery decorations. Breq had locked herself in one of the apartment’s two bedrooms with a handheld. Mercy’s chassis was putting its upper body mobility to good use, making more odd red, green, and white decorations for Seivarden to hang up.

“ _ Yes, Ambassador? _ ”

“Where do I find this Craig’s list?”

“ _ Craigslist is a website, so you will need to access it either through implants or a handheld or tabletop device. Might I suggest using the laptop? You are quite adept with them when it comes to… games. _ ”

The AI had a point. Zeiat tapped the keyboard lying on the table and the holographic screen flickered to life.

“Craigslist.com?”

“ _ Craigslist.com. _ ”

“Go to the Personals,” called Seivarden, “I’d say the ‘strictly platonic’ section.”

“ _ We could all go somewhere, _ ” said Mercy of Kalr.

“Breq wouldn’t like that,” said Seivarden, settling down at the table. 

“What should I be looking for?” Zeiat asked. 

“Anything connected to Midwinter traditions or celebrations would be a good idea,” said Seivarden.

Zeiat tuned them out and focused on scanning the ads. 

“How does this sound?” she asked. “Looking for random family to let me take Christmas portrait with.”

“Zeiat,” said Seivarden slowly. “I hate to break this to you, but you don’t… uh… have family. Here. You don’t have family here.”

“I have you,” said Zeiat simply.

Seivarden looked like she might just tear up.

The AI’s chassis looked slightly concerned. “ _ You are aware of the definition of family, Ambassador? _ ”

“Sure,” said Zeiat. “A group of people who live together and may or may not be related by blood, often a composed of parents and children, though can be composed of parental figures or other guardians. All of whom live together in a household. We are a household, at the least, are we not?” 

“ _ You are not wrong. _ ”

“And we have the semblance of a family unit. So I do not see a problem in looking at this ad.”

“ _ Of course, Ambassador. Proceed. _ ”

“Looking for random family to let me take Christmas portrait with. This year for Christmas, I really want to confuse a certain distant relative by making a Midwinter card with myself and a random family saying something like ‘Seasons Greetings from the Johnsons!’ Making it look like I married some random person with kids. It will be an awkward photo for sure with lots of turtle necks and ugly clothes. I want to baffle my relative as much as physically possible. If you let me take a picture with you or your family, I will give you twenty credits and some copies of the cards when I get them printed off. I think it would be pretty funny. Feel free to pass this along to someone with a sense of humor who you think would go along with this. PS. I could do a couples protrait too with a larger, more intimidating person standing behind me with their hands on my shoulders and a scared look on my face… But I think the family portrait would be the best. Message me if you’re interested with a picture so I can start sorting out candidates.”

“ _ Amusing as that is, Ambassador, we don’t have children. _ ”

The door to one of the bedrooms swung open and a frazzled Breq stalked through. 

“What is this,” she said, not asking, but demanding.

“Breq!” said Zeiat, grinning. “Someone wants to take Midwinter photos with a family!”

Breq walked up to Zeiat, skimmed the post, and leaned back, looking thoughtful.

Seivarden fidgeted. “I told her that you w-”

“We’re doing it,” said Breq.

“What?”

“We’re going to take photos with this person,” said Breq, “And then we’re going to send the greeting cards to Anaander Mianaai.” 

Zeiat’s grin grew wider, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Seivarden scoot away. “Can I be the parent?”

Breq considered it for a moment. “You have the most terrifying smile, so send in a photo. Seivarden?”

“Yes?”

“How well can you do child make up?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

***

The same day Zeiat sent in a photo, she got a response. Apparently, three rows of teeth did the trick. The studio was relatively close to their apartment, and when Breq saw the address, she made an odd noise. 

Zeiat stared at her until Breq looked up and said, “I know the owner, Ettan. She’s my go-to forger.”

She seemed to have been about to elaborate, but then Seivarden rushed in with one too many bags from the local secondhand shop and a manic glint in her eye that only meant that it was time for character work. 

The day of the shoot, Breq was about to get into the driver’s seat of Mercy of Kalr’s van body, but Zeiat beat her to it. She met Breq’s stare calmly and grinned, holding the keys up.

“I,” she said, “Am the mother. It only makes sense that I should drive.”

“ _ She has a point, Breq, _ ” said the van.

Breq looked at her, then turned her gaze to Seivarden in the passenger’s seat, who immediately looked a tad horrified and scrambled into the back seat. 

“Is everyone buckled up?” asked Zeiat, then  hit the gas before she got an adequate response.

***

The photography studio was right next to a rather shady looking pawn shop, but by itself seemed very nice. There were classy stock photos of smiling couples, families, and artistically posed models in the window, inexplicably interspersed with a what looked to be a tea set. A holographic sign displaying photo session and print prices twinkled above it all. 

Zeiat threw the van in reverse and parallel parked as efficiently as she could.

“Everyone remember your backstories?” said Seivarden, sounding rather sick.

“I am Dlique, single mother of Ultimate and Crusher.”

Seivarden turned expectantly to Breq. 

“I am Ultimate,” Breq forced out through gritted teeth.

“And I’m Crusher,” said Seivarden. “Does everyone remember how-”

“Let’s just go,” said Breq, and got out of the car. 

“ _ Good luck, _ ” said Mercy of Kalr through their earbuds. 

Zeiat let the van lock itself and walked through the door to the studio. 

Inside was bright and friendly, decorated with more elaborate tea sets. Various picture frames and stock souvenirs lined the shelves. At the far end was a desk, behind which sat a human, fiddling with a large,old fashioned, camera. There were a couple of waiting chairs against the adjacent wall, one of which was occupied by a lean figure wearing a red turtleneck and thick framed glasses. The person’s long black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. 

Seeing them walk in, the person stood up and walked over, smiling in a way that indicated that they perhaps weren’t too used to the motion. Immediately, Zeiat knew they weren’t human. That piece of information made her smile. Humans were all well and good, of course. But cyborgs? Those were, so far, complete enigmas.

“Hello, I’m Minask,” said the person.

“Dlique,” said Zeiat, squinting. “Your fake wife. Have we met before?”

“I highly doubt it.” Their face was stoic, but the line of their shoulder was too familiar for that to be true. 

“Well, I am your wife,” said Zeiat. “These are my daughters, Ultimate and Crusher.”

The owner snorted. 

“I’m Ettan,” she said, “Your photographer. Please, if you’d be so kind as to follow me to the back?”

“Of course, Ettan,” said Zeiat, grinning.

Minask eyed her teeth. “Are those real?”

“I grew them myself.”

“They’re… nice.”

“Thank you.”

“So these are you… children?”

Seivarden lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 

Breq crossed her arms and stared.

“Yes!” said Zeiat. “Are they not beautiful human children?”

“Hello, child,” Minask said, smiling at Breq.

“You’re lucky mom wouldn’t let me bring my gun.”

Minask looked up at Zeiat, then back to Breq, then to Zeiat again.

“Children and their little jokes!” said Zeiat.

Minask eyed Seivarden, who had smoked the cigarette halfway down already.

“How old are your… children?”

Zeiat opened her mouth to answer, realized she couldn’t remember that particular piece of character work, and turned to Breq. Breq turned to Seivarden. 

“...Child-aged,” said Seivarden, voice hoarse and deep. 

Minask turned to Ettan, who was watching the whole scene with barely contained delight. 

“If you’re ready, I can start the portraits,” said Ettan, lifting up the camera. “Or would you like to change?”

“Ah, yes!” said Zeiat, and plopped down the bag she’d been carrying. “I bought a couple of options. We are very big on tradition!”

Minask reached in and pulled something out at random. It turned out to be a christmas sweater with the words “HO HO HOMICIDE” delicately cross stitched on the front.

“There’s also-”

“It’s perfect,” said Minask.

Zeiat shrugged and tugged it on. 

“Alright,” said Ettan. “Let’s do the couple’s portraits first? Dlique you… Sit on the stool. Here, put this hat on… Perfect. Sph- Minask. Put your arms around her waist. Yes. Now put head on her shoulder. Smile wider. No, not you. Yes. Wider. Wider. Maybe a bit wider. Cross your eyes a little… Perfect.”

A series of shutter clicks resounded through the studio. 

Seivarden finished the cigarette, looked at the butt, then walked over to Zeiat and handed it to her. Zeiat gave it a long, hard, look, then shrugged and swallowed it. 

“That... ” started Minask.

Zeiat looked at them expectantly. They looked back blankly, then shook their head. 

“Let’s do some with the kids,” said Ettan. “Minask, you kneel. Br-Ultimate, you kneel, too. Crusher, you stand in the back...”

Seivarden lit another cigarette. 

“...Perfect.”

As Ettan snapped away, Zeiat whispered, “I think I figured out where I remember you from.”

“Oh?” said Minask, with a sort of bland nonchalance that bordered on emotionless.

“Yes,” said Zeiat. “Mianaai Tower. You knocked out a couple of guards-”

Something slammed into her stomach, then throat, forcing her back against the wall and dragging her upwards so her feet no longer touched the ground. Zeiat kicked about experimentally. The hand around her throat tightened, squeezing hard.

“Move and I will cut off the air and blood flow to your head,” said Minask. 

“Both of those are stupid,” said Zeiat. “Do I really need those?”

“ _ I think you do, Ambassador, _ ” said Mercy of Kalr in her ear.

“Who are you people?” Minask demanded, tone still flat. 

“Step away, citizen,” snapped Breq, already aiming a gun at Minask’s head. 

“I thought mother didn’t let you bring a gun,” Minask sneered.

Seivarden looked shocked, afraid, and… something else.

“Who are you,” Minask repeated. “And how long have you been working for Anaander Mianaai?”

“ _Now that’s just insulting,_ ” said Mercy of Kalr in their ears.

“Now that’s just insulting,” muttered Seivarden.

“Sphene,” said Ettan, sounding rather on edge. “We’ve talked about this. Please put the nice person down.”

“I am not,” said Zeiat indignantly. “A citizen. And who is Sphene?”

Breq walked forward, gun now centimeters away from Minask’s temple. 

“Let go,” she said evenly. 

“You have ten seconds to explain yourselves,” said Minask.

Ettan let out a shuddering sigh. “Sphene… Breq… Maybe you should just introduce yourselves.”

“Who’s Sphene?” asked Zeiat, getting rather impatient. Asking a name wasn’t meant to be a difficult question. Humans considered things like, ‘Why can’t an egg hatch into the feeling of dread before a job interview?’ to be complicated.Names, for them, were supposed to be easy.

“...I am.” said Minask. Said Sphene.

Zeiat gently patted their arm. “It’s alright,” she said. “We’re all someone else sometimes.”

“I take it you’re Breq,” said Sphene, not really asking.

Zeiat blinked in surprise. “Oh no! I am Zeiat.  _ That  _ is Breq.”

“I’m Seivarden,” said Seivarden.

Sphene eyed her with vague distaste. 

“Ettan,” said Sphene. “What is this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, customer,“ said Ettan, speech oddly formal.

“We wanted Midwinter cards,” said Breq, gun still trained on Sphene. 

“What a coincidence.”

“I wanted to experience the human winter holiday traditions,” declared Zeiat. “ _ She  _ wanted to send cards to Anaander.”

“What. A. Coincidence.”

“Oh, did you also want to experience human traditions? They are quite fascinating, are they not?”

“No. I wanted to send a card to the Usurper. To confuse her.”

“Then we seem to have a similar goal,” said Breq. “Put down the Ambassador and I’ll put down my gun.”

“I am quite comfortable up here,” said Zeiat. “It provides an entirely new perspective on the world. All of you look a bit smaller, the lighters look a little bright, and I can feel a faint hint of schadenfreude in the air.”

“ _ Do you know what that word means, Ambassador? _ ”

“No. But I suspect I will find out.”

Sphene dropped her. Breq slowly, deliberately, lowered her firearm and put it away.

“No offense, Breq, Sphene,” said Ettan. “But you have a shared goal. You’re not entirely human. You’re both wanted criminals. You both want see the downfall of Anaander Mianaai. Perhaps you could just… Finish taking these portraits and get out of my studio?”

“I need these to confuse Anaander enough that she thinks that I am a child,” said Breq.

“Would you two like to switch places?” Sphene asked. “For further dramatic effect, of course.”

“No,” said Zeiat. “I’m the mother. I have the best smile, so I have the best maternal instinct. It’s science.”

“Is it?” said Seivarden.

“Just get in position,” said Ettan. “I have a tea set to restore.”

A couple more family shots later, Seivarden and Breq stepped aside, talking quietly about something. Ettan looked Zeiat and Sphene up and down. 

“I have one final idea,” she said slowly. “If you’d be willing to hear it.”

Zeiat raised her eyebrows to indicated raised interest.

“I have a pillow here,” said Ettan, “Zeiat, if you could stuff it under your sweater? And then Sphene’s hands would go over yours and you’d form a sort of hand shape on your stomach.”

“What a novel idea!” said Zeiat, delighted. “What does this pillow denote.”

“It’s meant to mimic pregnancy,” said Sphene.

“Oh! Pregnancy! You mean to say humans don’t come out eggs?”

“Well, theoretically, but they need to be carried inside a mother until they reach maturity.”

“Like parasites in fish. How intriguing!”

“If you will, Ambassador?” said Ettan, voice strained.

Zeiat stuffed the decorative pillow under her sweater. Awkwardly, Sphene shuffled behind her, pressing close to her back. Standing, Zeiat was a great deal taller, so they had to press their cheek against her upper arm to make their face visible. Arms awkwardly stretched out to take her ‘round the waist. Sphene’s hands were warm on hers, and with some coordinating, they were able to form a heart on the stuffed belly. 

The shutter snapped.

“Perfect,” said Ettan. “Would you like me to print these up for you, or would you like to do it yourself?”’

“Our apartment is a few minutes from here,” said Breq. “I think we can do it ourselves. Thank you, Ettan.”

“Send more business my way,” said Ettan, unplugging a tiny drive from the camera and tossing it to Sphene, who caught it effortlessly. 

They exchanged the regular pleasantries of farewells and started walking out.

“Ambassador!” called Ettan.

“Yes?”

“My pillow, please.”

“Of course!”

***

“You mean to tell me,” said Sphene, “That you can hack Anaander Mianaai’s  _ Tower _ , but you can’t use Photoshop?”

“It’s very understandable,” said Zeiat, not even a little flustered. “You can run, but you can’t breathe underwater.”

“I fail to see how those relate,” said Sphene.

Mercy of Kalr’s chassis sighed. “ _ Let me do it, Ambassador. _ ”

“You all keep calling her ‘ambassador.’ Why?”

“That’s what she is,” said Seivarden. “A little to the left. No no. Your left.”

Breq adjusted the fir tree in its stand, eyes alight with something akin to murder.

“I am an ambassador from the Presger System, to humanity,” said Zeiat.

“Yet here you are, involved in blatant crime instead of sipping tea with Anaander Mianaai.”

“Anaander Mianaai does not constitute all of humanity,” said Zeiat. 

“ _ Respectfully, neither do we. _ ”

“Oh,” said Zeait. “You come much closer.”

She turned her full attention to watching Breq and Seivarden struggle with alligning the tree. Finally, Breq simply dropped it to the indignant protestations of Seivarden.

“You said you had met before,” said Breq. Behind her, Seivarden was fastening the tree in its place and swearing quietly under her breath.

“Yes! At the tower!” said Zeait. “Sphene knocked out the guards at the back door and I opened it. I think we both won the game that time.”

“Now what in the world would you need from Mianaai Tower?” asked Breq, coming over to the table and tucking her hands in her pockets.

“Plans,” said Sphene shortly.

“Of what?”

“Blueprints. Of Anaander’s private floors.”

“The encrypted ones she keeps under digital lock and key? The ones no one can get to?”

“I’ve solved her encryption system. But she had more defenses than I anticipated. I couldn’t even get into an access panel without setting off alarms.”

“So, if you had these plans, you’d be able to make them into something worth looking at.”

“Yes.” Sphene ground out. “But that is a moot point seeing as-”

Breq took one hand out of her pocket and deposited something on the table with a slight  _ clink _ .

Sphene very nearly gaped. “Is that-”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Zeiat grinned. “Your technology is quite delightful. Enough of a challenge to be fun, but not enough to deter someone. It’s easy. Like making candy out of a baby.”

“ _ Like taking candy from a baby. _ ”

“Sure. That.”

“What do you plan to use these plans for?” asked Sphene, seemingly nonchalant. 

“We’re going to break into the top floors of Anaander’s tower, find out what’s most important to her there, and destroy it,” said Breq, matching her tone.

Sphene smiled. For the first time, it seemed quite genuine. “You were once a military AI, were you not?”

“Justice of Toren,” said Breq, forcing the words out.

“I was, too,” said Sphene. “So, cousin. I believe we really do have some common ground to stand on.”

The next morning, Zeiat woke up to see two foreign duffel bags on the dresser across from her and Sphene sitting in a chair next to it, sharpening a knife.

She smiled.

Sphene nodded.

This was going to be an interesting partnership.

***

_ Season’s Greetings from the Johnsons. Sphene and Zeiat “Cannibal” Johnson, and the girls, Gun and Disappointment. _

_ Merry Shitscram! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta we die like men.  
> Based vaguely off of this: [Looking for random family to let me take Christmas portrait with](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3351341/College-student-poses-Christmas-card-random-people-prank-distant-relatives-thinking-married-two-sons-way.html)  
> There's a chance I might continue this, possibly with the addition of Tisarwat, but that's up in the air right now. ;))


End file.
